fresh pain.
“Mr. Johnson?” she called out.
There was a cry, muffled beneath the crash of thunder. Harriet shoved at the door above her so she could climb out of the side of the carriage, now the ceiling. Her hem tore as she jumped from the carriage, and her arm twinged as she braced herself to land. She sank almost instantly into several inches of oozing mud. The road was dark; moonlight was unable to pierce the storm clouds. In a brief flash of lightning, she saw Mr. Johnson clutching his leg, his face twisted in pain. Harriet ran over to him, hunching over to get a better look.
“Are you able to ride, Mr. Johnson?”
“Afraid not, Miss Russell.” Mr. Johnson winced as he tried to stand, but fell back to the ground. “You should take a horse, ride to find help. I’ll stay with the coach.”
“We have to get you to a doctor,” Harriet insisted. Lightning tore across the sky, and in the distance a mountainous edifice was momentarily revealed. “What place is that, Mr. Johnson?” She pointed in the direction of the distant building.
The driver’s face darkened. “That is Lord Frostmore’s estate.”
“The Dark Duke?” Harriet’s heart jumped in her chest.
“Yes, miss. I know you to be a brave lady, but you mustn’t go there.” Mr. Johnson grasped her arm as though to prevent her from going for help.
Harriet pried his fingers off her arm gently. “Is there nowhere else close enough to reach?”
“Not in this weather,” the driver admitted.
“Then I must go to the duke.”
“Miss, please…,” the driver protested, but she shook her head.
“Do not worry about me, Mr. Johnson. Now come, let me help you up. You can rest inside the carriage until help arrives. You mustn’t catch a chill in this storm.”
Harriet forced him up and got him inside the carriage with some difficulty. After Mr. Johnson was secured, Harriet loosed one of the horses and pulled herself up onto the beast’s back, grasping the long reins. She hadn’t ridden a horse since she was a child, and while she was uncertain as to her skill now, she knew Mr. Johnson depended on her.
Her torn and muddied skirts split easily as she straddled the horse. Wrapping the reins tight around her fingers, she kicked the horse’s sides. It didn’t need any other urging to fly across the soaked road toward the distant estate. Her cloak flew out behind her as she dug her muddy boots into the horse’s flanks again, spurring it toward the dark, shadowy edifice she’d glimpsed moments before.
Harriet rode the horse hard all the way to the gates. The heavy wrought-iron structure was open just enough for her horse to pass, but Harriet lingered at the entrance, taking in the sharp spiked tops of the gates and the stone carved with the name of “Frostmore” near the gates.
A pair of devilish gargoyles crouched menacingly on either side of the entrance pillars. And when the lightning flashed over them, Harriet nearly screamed as she swore they moved. More pain lanced through her shoulder, and she cried out, clutching her injured shoulder.
The large mansion lay in the gloom beyond. There within its walls was the Dark Duke. Could she pass these gates and brave the risks? Harriet thought of Mr. Johnson and his injuries, and she remembered her father’s fencing lessons. She was capable of defending herself if it came to it, assuming he wasn’t like her stepfather, with men hired to trap her, so she spurred her horse again and rode through the gates, ready to risk her life in order to help her driver. But she would do her best to beg for help from the servants who would answer the door, and hopefully they wouldn’t share with their master that she was here. It was a small hope, but she clung to it, nonetheless.
The manor house was dark; only a few lights were lit near the main entrance. She abandoned her horse and ran up the stone steps, beating on the heavy oak door with the knocker. After a few minutes, a middle-aged man with a somber face opened the door. He was in his nightclothes, with a candle raised near his head. His bleary eyes focused on her in surprise and confusion.
“Please, sir. My coachman is injured. Our carriage overturned on the road to Dover. He cannot walk or ride without assistance!” Harriet blurted out quickly.
The man took in her dirty, drenched appearance and opened the door wider. “Come in, my child. Quickly now,”